Love is a Peculiar Thing
by Piichi Koko
Summary: A collection of FrUK drabble stories.
1. Home is where the Heart is

Francis Bonnefoy barely flinched when he heard the slam of the front door, the force of it sending subtle vibrations reverberating throughout the house. He paused, the stirring of the soup he was currently making slowing to a stop, and listened closely, waiting.

"Stupid... imcompetent... why should_ I_... bloody hell!"

Ah, there it was. The Frenchman grinned as he heard his lover's all-too familiar grumbling and turned back to attend to the broth. Francis did not expect for him to come into the kitchen and talk of his frustrations so easily. He knew that Arthur Kirkland was too stubborn and proud for such actions, very much resembling a child, and he knew it well. He supposed it couldn't be helped. Giving the warm liquid one last stir, he turned the heat of the stove down lower and strolled into the den. "Arthur, _mon cher_, welcome home!" he greeted, arms open wide. The messy-haired blonde, however, did not return his warm welcome.

The English man was struggling to take his shoes off, stumbling around due to both fatigue and anger. Francis chuckled at the sight. "Long day at work, hm?" he questioned as he gently unwrapped the grey scarf from around Arthur's neck and shrugged off his coat.

"You've no idea!" The reply came out as an annoyed growl. Finally succeeding in ridding himself of his troublesome shoes, Arthur trudged over to the couch and plopped down rather unceremoniously, his long limbs sprawled out in all directions. Hanging up the coat and scarf, Francis let out another low chuckle before going to comfort the man splayed across the furniture. He leaned over the couch and poked the other blonde's cheek, earning a swat from Arthur's hand and the words, "Don't touch me, frog!" in return.

"So who got to my dear black sheep today?" Francis' fingers moved towards Arthur's soft hair, itching to run his fingers through it, but pulled back after a harsh glare from said owner, expression saying 'don't even fucking think about it'. His hands opted instead to fold under his chin, and he tilted his head. "I'm waiting."

"Why the hell should I tell you?"

"Because I care." Arthur's green eyes widened slightly at the simple, straightforward response, obviously not what he'd been expecting, before his thick brows furrowed, and he looked away in embarrassment. Francis did not move and continued to survey the irritable man with a fond smile on his face.

"Alfred..." mumbled Arthur after a few silent minutes.

"But of course! You and Alfred always argue, _non_?"

"He's just so bloody rude! 'I think _you_ should do all of the paperwork; you're good at that kind of stuff!'" Francis had to hold back a laugh at Arthur's horrid attempt at the American's accent so as not to evoke his wrath.

"As expected from young Alfred. _Mon cher_, you are indeed good at those types of things though." The Frenchman rushed to reassure Arthur upon seeing the man glowering menacingly at him. "However it is unfair that he would dump all of the work on you. You should talk to him and split the work evenly." These words earned a satisfied 'harumph' of agreement, and Francis mentally exhaled and applauded himself at his nice save and evasion of what he liked to call a British explosion. Green eyes closed shut as the longer-haired blonde snuck a kiss to Arthur's forehead and slipped out of the room back into the kitchen.

"Dinner is ready, Arthur." Recieving no answer, Francis went back into the den. There he found his English lover, asleep. Moving closer, he brushed some of the golden locks away and out of Arthur's face, reveling in its soft texture. He took a moment to marvel at how much more relaxed and calm the Brit looked while he was sleeping; his face was completely smoothed out, and there were no angry lines etched in his features. Francis caressed his cheek and draped a blanket over the slumbering body with a smile.

"Idiot, you did not even have your dinner."


	2. Felines i

"What the hell is _that_?" Arthur's arms were crossed indignantly as he let out a cry of frustration.

"What does it look like?" said Francis, rolling his eyes.

"Why did you bring an unwanted cat into this household? I already have to attend to a bleeding frog, I don't need another stinking animal to care for!" Francis let out an indignant gasp and hugged the cat closer to his chest.

"Don't be so cold and cruel, you evil man! Can you not see how beautiful this creature is?" He cooed at the cat and stroked its head. Arthur scowled.

"All I see is a man that's going to get kicked out on his arse if he doesn't get rid of that thing." His scowl only deepened with the Frenchman's reply.

"_Non_, we are keeping him." Francis rubbed his cheek against the cat's soft fur affectionately, earning a purr in response.

"Well, I hope you know that_ I_ for one am not going to attend to this animal. You're on your own, frog." He huffed and turned away, refusing to think that he was jealous of an infernal... _feline_.

"We'll see about that, _mon cher_." Both Francis and the cat seemed to exchange a knowing look.


	3. Felines ii

Francis had known that Arthur would grow attached to the cat he'd brought home. Though the heavily-browed man had resisted at first, he soon fell victim to its charms. Francis and the cat, whom he and Arthur had argued over what to name before finally settling on George, were not bothered by the short-haired man's initial combatance because they were well-aware that it wouldn't last for long, and that Arthur really wasn't as opposed as he said he was.

After the first day that George had been brought home, the Frenchman had caught Arthur petting the cat with a small smile. Arthur had, of course, been trying to be discreet and hide this from Francis, but there is no hiding from the French. Francis had proceeded to gloat as the messy blonde spluttered and tried to deny everything, and the cat looked on with a bored expression.

Soon, though, Arthur ceased to pretend he did not enjoy George's company. And Francis could not help but notice the striking similiarities between the two.

Both man and cat seemed to strut about with an air of self-importance, a certain sway in their walk. Nobody could be as great as themselves, surely. Francis found their slight arrogance amusing and charming.

Whenever Arthur was provoked he would bristle and stiffen, lips curling in an unpleasant grimace, eyes narrowed in a dark glare. He resembled a hissy George so closely that it was impossible for Francis not to laugh and tease which, coincidentally, only made Arthur grow even more hostile. When angry, there was no guarantee that'd you escape the two's fury unscathed. Both could scratch, and both could bite.

The grumpy man and sleek cat had their nice moments, too. They were a lot more enjoyable when relaxed. George would lounge about, purring as his tail flipped contentedly back and forth; Arthur would have a slight smile tugging at his lips, ridiculous eyebrows not so scrunched together.

When sleeping they tended to curl up, especially if they were next to somebody, namely Francis. He'd then proceed to gently pet their heads and hum in satisfaction.

It turns out that a sheep, a frog, and a cat could live together surprisingly well.


	4. Ostentatious

Arthur glared at the French man in front of him. "Is all of this really necessary?"

Francis regarded the blonde with a look of confusion. "What are you talking about, Arthur?"

Arthur gestured wildly at the other's attire. "This! Your clothes!" Almost punching the man in his stubble-filled face as his expression was even more confused than before, the short-haired blonde explained further. "You are too showy and flashy! Why must you always dress so... so... so obnoxiously?" The colors were too loud and bright, in Arthur's opinion.

"_Mon cher_, you are just jealous that I have such a fashionable sense of style. I feel bad for you; obviously your taste is bad in more than just the cooking department." He laughed as Arthur's fists clenched.

"Belt up, you bastard! My cooking is fantastic, and everybody knows it! And there is nothing wrong with _my_-"

"Feel free to try on some of the things in my wardrobe; I'd be more than happy to help you out with your, ah, sad situation. You are so dull, Arthur. Although I cannot change your personality, I can improve your choice of clothing." Francis narrowly missed the punch thrown at his cheek.


	5. Accident

_CRASH!_

_Shit. When Francis comes home, he's going to kill me._

Arthur wrung his hands nervously as he surveyed the damage he'd just done. He had been cleaning up a little bit, iPod blaring through his headphones, when he had gotten a bit too carried away with the music. He had bumped into one of the small side tables a tad too roughly and sent a very special, very expensive vase full of roses from Francis tumbling to the ground, shattering into fragments.

"Shit." he voiced aloud.

The man paced back and forth wondering what the hell he should do. He felt bad. Normally he wouldn't give a care at all for the Frenchman's petty things, but this had been a rather particular gift given to Arthur. It was an absolutely beautiful vase, as were the fresh flowers placed within. He was quite fond of it indeed. And now it was ruined.

Arthur didn't know when Francis would be coming home. He said he'd had to buy some things, but what he had not specified. Arthur did not now how to fix this or cover it up. He hung his head, furious with himself, before snapping out of it and rushing to grab some towels. He carefully picked up each rose and placed them on the table. Now for the glass.

Not being very well-versed on incidents such as this, seeing as Arthur was not a particularly clumsy person, he soaked up the water with one towel and then began to pick up some of the glass.

"Arthur, darling, I am home!"

"Fuck!" The Englishman cried out in surprise at both the arrival of his lover and the sudden pain in his finger. Looking down he saw blood blossoming from a fresh cut.

"Is everything al- _mon dieu_! What's happened?" Arthur scrambled up from his knees, attempting to hide the mess behind him. Too late.

"F-Francis! Well you see I, um, I was cleaning and..." Green eyes flitted around the room, looking anywhere but at the man in front of him. "It was an accident!" Francis looked from the roses to the glass to Arthur. "If you hadn't set it on that bloody table-" He stopped. No, blaming others would not help anything. It wasn't really Francis' fault, anyways. Letting out a shaky sigh, the nervous man finally glanced up and gulped.

"What do you think you're doing?" Francis strode up to Arthur with a look of anger and... something else.

"I told you it was-"

"You_ imbecile_! You could have gotten hurt cleaning it that-" There was worry in his eyes. The long-haired blonde looked down and saw Arthur's bleeding hand. "_Merde_! See?"

Needless to say, the shorter man was confused. Wasn't Francis mad about the vase?

He was taken out of his thoughts when he felt a pair of lips on his fingers. "W-What the hell?" Francis just gave a small smirk as he continued to lap at the liquid until it came to a stop. "I-Idiot..." Arthur's face was flushed red with embarrassment, and he was pointedly averting his eyes, training them on the floor. "I'm sorry." he forced out after a moment.

"It's alright, just do not put yourself in danger like that again." The Frenchman heaved an exasperated sigh. "Really, what am I to do with you?"

"Wait- aren't you angry that I broke the vase?" It certainly didn't seem so.

"What? _Non_." He paused. "Okay, _oui_, maybe a bit. But I am more upset with the fact that you were stupid and didn't take care of it properly. You hurt yourself." The already blushing man reddened further.

Arthur placed an unexpected kiss on Francis' cheek before he grumbled, "Fine, then show me how to clean it up _properly_."


	6. Window Shopping

"Quit being so slow, you git." Arthur and Francis were walking down the streets filled with retail and business establishments.

"Why are you in such a rush? I thought we were taking a leisurely stroll." said Francis. The short-tempered blonde only shook his hair out of his eyes in impatience. "You need to learn to appreciate what is beautiful more." Francis slowed to a stop in front of a wide-windowed store. "Like me." Arthur rolled his eyes as he heard his partner's wistful voice, "I am so beautiful."

"You're quite the narcissistic frog, aren't you?" scoffed the Brit.

"But look, look at me!" Francis sighed, then focused on the full reflection. He examined the man standing next to him, noting that he was far from bad-looking. Arthur had always been an attractive individual despite his oftentimes distasteful badmouth. "Hm, we make such a pretty couple. Though, your eyebrows mar the perfect image a bit."

"Tch. Hurry up, will you?" Said man with the eyebrows continued on walking. Francis surveyed the view from behind, watching the Englishman's hips swing slightly as he walked.

Arthur let out a yelp as he felt a hand on his bottom. "Stop groping my arse, wanker!"

"Ah, I'm only appreciating what's beautiful, my dear Arthur!"


End file.
